


Rivalry

by kalypsobean



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-25
Updated: 2007-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-10 22:24:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1165274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalypsobean/pseuds/kalypsobean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts with something as simple as a rumour.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rivalry

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Jaiden as part of Slashy Santa 2007

The challenge reached him before it had even been officially made; such was the way gossip fled from the Elves who originated it as if to absolve them from blame. He heard it from Erestor, who'd heard it from the messenger whose cousin had been there when Haldir had first dared boast. Of course, it was to be expected from such a comparative youngster with a reputation much greater than deserved, but it still irked him. Did these Elves have nothing better to do than spend their time talking? One would think that they were ignorant of the threat that grew in the east or the unrest in the south and happy to remain complacent until war knocked them from their homes and left them bereft of everything but their sins and the faint smell of happiness through a doorway that couldn't be reached.

 

He heard that it had been formally made and preparations were being made before the parchment arrived; he heard the eagle's wings as it fluttered to the windowsill of his newly appointed quarters and looked up to see it drop a rolled parchment before flaring and flying away. He watched the eagle depart, golden tail feathers catching the light before it disappeared above the window's range, before approaching the parchment and marking the Lórien seal still unfamiliar to him. Thoughtfully, he pressed his lips together and rolled them between his teeth before picking it up and turning. If the damned Elf wanted a duel, it would be done correctly or not at all.

Glorfindel hissed as he tripped on his robes, too long to be entirely comfortable and rather inconvenient for an Elf who preferred to keep his weapons close to hand. It was no wonder that Haldir of Lórien thought he could best the Glorfindel of legend and myth if that same Elf could not even walk properly. Purporting an image of clumsiness, however, could prove quite effective if he was going to play Haldir's game while he kept the traditions of his own rash youth. It was with a slightly self-deprecating smile that he acknowledged the servants who watched him through a conveniently open door. They seemed the sort to be bustling about telling everyone that the Great Glorfindel could not walk from his rooms to Elrond's without falling over. Perhaps they were kitchenhands, though the cleanliness of their robes indicated otherwise, and would tell the cook who would tell the gardener who would tell the stablehand...

As long as they spoke to someone, Glorfindel decided that it didn't matter who they were. 

He made a show of dusting off his robes and checking the parchment before continuing on, the whispers of the kitchenhands abandoned.

 

With Elrond as his witness, Glorfindel broke the seal and unrolled the parchment. He was surprised that it did not come from Haldir himself, but he was more than willing to accept a mediator if it meant a fair fight.  
"I trust you will make an attempt to not incapacitate him?" Elrond asked, with an eyebrow raised in what Glorfindel knew to be his standard questioning expression. "After all, he is one of their best."

"But not the best," replied Glorfindel, smiling in his most wolfish manner. 

Elrond put a hand to his forehead and turned away. "The most courageous, certainly, but there are better warriors in Lothlórien."

"Do they war with quills and ink as well as swords, then?" Glorfindel held the parchment up to the window, so that the light shone through the thinner parts of the page. "This is exceptionally good writing."  
"Unlike yours. What do you want to say in reply?" Erestor spoke from a corner of the room; he sat in shadow and observed more than interfered, but Glorfindel respected him for his uncanny ability to see through any situation to find the words that would calm discord before it reached a point beyond control.

"Write something nice... and that I look forward to introducing Haldir to Lórien dirt."

Glorfindel left the room before Erestor could throw a quill at his hair, thus staining it with tannin ink. He heard Elrond's rebuke and laughed; after all, the challenge was met. What more was there to do than to prepare Asfaloth for the journey and finish crafting his sword?

 

~*~

 

Glorfindel had planned many things to say to Haldir. The journey from Imladris to Lothlórien had been unexpectedly long and so there had been plenty of time to think about the exact way he would greet the upstart Elf and what he'd say when he drove the tip of his sword into the ground by Haldir's neck. The former did not eventuate as he'd planned, though. For one thing, Haldir was exceedingly polite for an Elf whom he'd heard to be arrogant and self-absorbed. Glorfindel found himself smiling at Haldir and greeting him in kind. "Though you are somewhat smaller than I have been led to believe," he added to the standard 'nice to meet you' spiel he was sick of repeating.

Haldir's polite smile widened. "And you are not quite so tall as the stories say."

Glorfindel chided himself for relaxing before the enemy once Haldir's back was turned and the party were being led to their talans.

 

He was anything but relaxed the following morning, when Haldir stood opposite him on one of the training fields, sword in hand and raised to a medium guard. 

"Be careful, Glorfindel, the grass here likes to trip strangers."

"You will not be a stranger to it before long," said Glorfindel. Ignorant of the stares from the sizeable number of onlookers and the occasional cheer of encouragement, he watched Haldir carefully for any sign of an impending attack. Haldir was well-muscled, that was certain; his arms were not shapeless like those of scribes, nor overly muscled. He would have guessed that Haldir was an archer, though he'd offered swords in the challenge. Perhaps it was courtesy or self-confidence, allowing Glorfindel to have the weapon he favoured most; perhaps it was a nod to tradition. If it was tradition, however, Haldir had abandoned it where Glorfindel had not; Haldir's hair was mostly loose whereas Glorfindel had bound his hair so that it hung in a straight column down his back, as old customs would have had it. Haldir wore leggings and a waist tunic with long sleeves; Glorfindel had opted to wear his favourite and most comfortable outfit; deerskin trousers and a sleeveless tunic that flared at his waist and reached to his thighs. It allowed the most movement, and also allowed the air to flow around his skin so that he could better understand his environment through the kiss of the wind.

Haldir moved; it was a slight tensing of his sword arm, but it warned Glorfindel and he raised his guard to parry Haldir's thrust. He spun as he did so, and slid the blade of his sword down Haldir's as he turned, bringing himself closer to Haldir and allowing him to raise his elbow and hit Haldir's jaw before he stepped away and returned to his first position. 

"First blood?" he asked, when he saw that Haldir bled from his mouth; a small bite, but enough to show.

"Until the other yields," Haldir said as he attacked again; Glorfindel parried and twisted his wrist, using his sword to force Haldir's towards the ground before he made his own thrust and touched the tip of his blade to Haldir's shoulder.

"You admit that I can make you yield, then?" Glorfindel turned his hips away from Haldir's sword as he spoke, then reached for Haldir's wrist. Haldir dodged and put his sword to Glorfindel's back, but Glorfindel slid to the ground and the strike went over his head; he spun on one foot while he stretched his other leg out and used it to disrupt Haldir's balance before rising again. When he faced Haldir again, Haldir's sword was raised and the blade held parallel to the ground. He adopted a high guard and then stepped into Haldir's attack, bringing his sword down close to the handle of Haldir's and then using the force to break Haldir's grip.

"I admit it," said Haldir, and knelt to the ground, his knees landing next to the hilt of his sword. "And I yield."

 

Glorfindel held out his free hand to Haldir and waited for him to take it before speaking again. "You're good; slow, but you know what you're doing. You prefer the bow, though; you hold your sword too straight to wield it most effectively."

He pulled on Haldir's hand and thus helped him stand. "Elrond said you had courage."

"And the stories do not lie about you, though you are a bit rusty."

"Aren't you too young to know?"

Haldir took his hand from Glorfindel's and let that arm fall to his side. Glorfindel noticed but did not mention the blood on Haldir's shoulder; instead he crouched and picked up Haldir's sword. He offered it, hilt forward, and Haldir accepted it in his other hand.

"I will train you, if you wish it."

Haldir nodded once, and then left the field; the challenge had been met, but Glorfindel could not help but wonder if it had been truly won, or if it would continue in the manner that develops between friends over time.


End file.
